The Cacophony of Brothers
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An Annotated Guide to the Perfect Home Office

You know, I don't ask for much when it comes to a home office. I'm really just happy to have a desk. A computer. My AP Stylebook. An electrical plug is helpful, as is a chair. I mean, that's definitely gettin' a little fancy there but I think I've earned it.

(I'd include things like a combination printer/scanner but mine's been flashing COMMUNICATION ERROR at me for seven months now and I've survived just fine.)

In other words, I don't really expect my home office to be any great aspirational haven. I mean, it's hard to get too uppity about it when you share your workspace with a litter box. I tend to view it more as a room I hunker down in for a few hours a day and then am happy to leave behind all weekend. 

There might be a flaw in that last part, as I disovered this morning.


1) An entire box of very sharp (yet very small and hard-to-see) metal screws, dumped out by Ike, discovered by my feet.

2) Index cards, also courtesy of Ike. (Why do I own index cards? I never use index cards. I have no memory of ever purchasing these index cards or stealing them from a former place of employment, so where did all those index cards even come from, and why the hell did I still feel compelled to pick up said index cards, re-stack them up neatly and stick them back in a drawer so that they may one day haunt me again? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS ABOUT THE INDEX CARDS.)

3) Tiny flecks of runny dog poop, the remnants of a much larger incident that I cleaned up before taking this photo, because I do still have some boundaries or decency. Also that was before I stepped on the screws while trying to avoid the dog poop and the lightbulb of BLOGGABLE MOMENT went off in my head. In other words, I really shouldn't have fed Ceiba all that leftover jerk chicken from our July 4th barbecue.

4) A scale. A scale that I had purposely hidden away because I no longer care, WHATEVER, I'll just buy bigger pants and I'll look cute in the bigger pants although cute in like, a Mom Way. Someone keeps pulling the scale out, probably to purposely test the depths of my no longer caring. (HINT: 'Tis as deep as my abiding love for wine and cheese. So. Yeah.) 

5) I don't even fucking know. It appears to possibly be part of a LEGO instruction booklet that has sealed itself to the floor. 

6) Jewelry messed with, earrings separated and necklaces irreparably entangled. 

7) Oh hi, random hair product that I thought was lost all weekend. Super stoked to have you back on a day when I have no need for actual human interaction.

8) Okay, so you can't really see this in the photo but since I'm laying all this snark and blame on my dog and toddler I feel compelled to own up to the presence of a mostly-empty, festering bottle of beet juice and a package of now-stale Wasa crackers that have been sitting there since I had them for lunch on Wednesday. So it's not like this scene was like, over-the-top offensive to my CLEARLY VERY HIGH AND LADYLIKE standards or anything. 

Anyway. Happy Monday, self! Hope you enjoyed the long weekend. Now go get some towels and holy water. THEN GET BACK TO WORK.



I love you so much. This makes me feel infinitely better about the piles of clothing and tissue paper and googly eyes I step over on my way to my desk.

Though I did do a major cleaning this past weekend. It was prompted by a sip of week old coffee when I grabbed the wrong mug. That shit is nasty.


The beet juice is making me think of the mouse in our kitchen (and then I get the damn heebie jeebies. Again). As for 5, yeah, I don't know, man. Ours is what looks to be a disintegrated Hulk sticker. You mock my cleaning, Hulk.

And the index cards. We get them for the kids to use at school or for the boy to have words taped up on random shit in the house because fake learning to read.


I'm an AP reporter, so it warms my heart to see you mention the AP Stylebook.


#5 is my favorite! Are we picking favorites?


I clean my desk on Friday afternoons so that it is clean on Monday morning like some kind of special work treat. Come 9:15 on Monday morning you would never know it had once been free from paper.


Aren't Wasa crackers by their very nature always stale? Or is that just me and my taste buds?
Great post. Looks like my office. Except mine is in an office building. Like, with other adult humans who see the way I choose to inhabit my space.
I obviously have no shame.

Lynda M O

They're cute little tendrils of dog shit, if that helps at all.

One more thing: all too soon they'll be grown and the house will be empty and that'll suck in a different way.

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